


French me

by tatarrific



Category: Orphan Black (TV)
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-12
Updated: 2015-02-12
Packaged: 2018-03-12 02:53:37
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 957
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3340910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tatarrific/pseuds/tatarrific
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: cosima and delphine getting ‘busy’. delphine makes a funny comment in french, but cosima doesn’t understand and tells her it’s sexy when she speaks french. Delphine just starts laughing hysterically.</p>
            </blockquote>





	French me

**Author's Note:**

> (Translations of the French within are listed at the bottom, or you can always fetch the trusty google translate as you go along. Whatever you do, though, just imagine sexxy Delphine murmuring it.)

There is something to be said about a slightly stoned Delphine, Cosima muses as her lips traverse the length of a pale neck.  Delphine’s head is thrown back against the sofa, eyelids heavy under the combined influence of wine and second-hand pot smoke, and her soft murmurs are the only sound punctuating the silence of the living room.  She is pliable under Cosima’s hands and lips, her body, still clad in one of her standard work outfits - black pants, black button-down blouse - is slowly sliding into a prone position on the couch.

Cosima eases the top button of Delphine’s shirt open, revealing the soft dip between her clavicles, lays a kiss there.  There is another sigh of encouragement and she feels Delphine’s hand on top of her head, guiding her lower.  She places another kiss, following another released button.

_“Mmmoui.  C’est très agréable.”_   Delphine’s eyes are fully closed now, head lolling to the side, her fingers absently caressing a stray dreadlock.  Cosima grins, knowing well what a transition to French means.  Buttons give way one by one revealing an expanse of pale flesh and black lace to her gaze and she pauses, gazing with admiration.  She will feast tonight.

_"Tu sais, mon amour, je le réfléchissais…"_ Delphine tugs on Cosima’s hair, pulling her lower again.   _"Si tu n’avais pas tes cheveux et si mes yeux etaient fermer. Serais-je capable de connaïtre la différence?"_

Cosima hums against warm skin, let’s the soft susurrus of Delphine’s voice wash over her.  She’s sure that she will learn French soon, will be able to understand the meaning behind Delphine’s murmurs, but for now she is content to soak in the pure melody of her voice, the absolute sexiness of the language.  French, for them,  _is_  the language of love, the language of the soft, barely audible instructions as Cosima’s lips tease for too long.  It is the language of lazy mornings and sleepy smiles, unmarred by arguments and lab terminology.  Above all, it is the language Delphine always reverts to in her more.. unbridled moments.

Her lips traverse the length of the taut abdomen below them, feeling the skin grow flushed, muscles twitching in response.  Her mouth turns dry in anticipation, but she wills herself to go slow, savor the moment.  It takes one flick of her fingers, and the button on Delphine’s pants comes undone, and the blonde’s hips shift up, inviting her to explore further.

_"Je veux dire que je suis sûr que je pourrais. Mais qu’est-ce que je ferais si …une des autres déciderait de me séduire au milieu de la nuit?"_   Delphine chuckles, a short, snort-like sound, and Cosima looks up momentarily, grinning.  Stoned Delphine is the cutest Delphine.  One smooth movement later the zipper gives away with a sigh and Cosima bites her lower lip in anticipation, slowly peeling the pants away before tossing them aside.  There is nothing between her and home base besides a tiny piece of black lace.  Delphine’s voice turns into a purr and Cosima feels the sound of it settle low in her stomach.   _"Elles peuvent être très fallacieuse, tu sais, Sarah en particulier."_

Cosima’s head snaps up.  “Sarah?  Did you just say..  _Sarah_?”

One hazel eye half-opens, regarding her lazily, and then Delphine’s hand is on the top of her head again, pressing down insistently until her nose is pressed into black lace.  The scent that greets her is heady and Cosima closes her eyes, inhaling.  She must have misheard.  Her fingers hook into lace, slowly dragging it across the sculpted length of Delphine’s thighs, over smooth kneecaps, letting it tangle around one ankle.

Satisfied with her handiwork Cosima sits back, taking in the languorous sprawl of denuded limbs, mussed hair and the half-lidded gaze, and stubbornly ignores one blonde eyebrow raised pointedly in her direction.  

Understanding a change in tactics is needed, Delphine throws her arms behind her head, stretching languidly.  Cosima watches raptly, noting the arc of the back, the peak of the breasts still encased in black lace.  Delphine’s voice is husky now, commanding, an arm extended in invitation.   _"Tu ne peux pas me laisser comme ça! Viens ici mon petit chou."_

Cosima obeys without a thought, settling herself atop of Delphine, hips slotting between open thighs.  She starts her descent anew, first a kiss in the soft spot between the clavicles, then a bit lower, then lower still.  Contented sighs meet her efforts, and soon the murmured French continues.

_"Quand même, je ne crois pas qu’ elles peuvent me tromper. Ni une personne. Mais…au cas où… je dois le vérifier."_

The pain is sharp and unexpected, and Cosima sits up with a yelp, clutching at the side of her head.  “Oowww _WAH!_   What the  _hell_ , Delphine.  You almost ripped the whole chunk of hair out!”

For a moment Delphine, hands clasped over her mouth, just stares at her wide-eyed and Cosima, scalp still smarting, wonders if she imagined the whole thing.  Then the dam bursts; it starts as a hiccup, the abdomen below her contracting with suppressed giggles, and then Delphine is shrieking with riotous laughter, tears running down her cheeks.  Cosima observes for a moment, uncomprehending, as Delphine, trying to compose herself, mimics yanking at Cosima’s dreads, only to dissolve in a paroxysm of laughter again.

“Delphine?  What-  Why did you—”  But there is no talking to Delphine, the blonde curled into a fetal position around a sofa pillow, shaking with contact high mirth, and Cosima realizes that the chances of resuming their abruptly ended activities are running low.  After a moment she flops on the couch, resigned, remembering why Delphine and pot don’t mix. Her fingers press against her scalp, gently fingering the sore spot.  Learning French might, after all, be a priority.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you ladycanuck for the French translation - you saved me (and everyone reading this) from the terrible fate of trying to make sense of google translated gibberish. :) Mwah!
> 
>  
> 
> ~~~
> 
>  
> 
> "This is very nice."
> 
> "You know, love, I was wondering."
> 
> “If it weren’t for your hair and I, say, had my eyes closed.. Would I be able to tell the difference?” 
> 
> “I mean, I’m sure I would. But what if.. one of the others just decided to seduce me in the middle of the night?” 
> 
> “They can be very nefarious, you know. Especially Sarah.”
> 
> “You can’t just leave me here like that. Come here, my little cabbage.”
> 
> “Anyway, I don’t think they could fool me. Any of them… But I should check, just in case.”


End file.
